


Tear Up My Reputation

by SpineAndSpite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpineAndSpite/pseuds/SpineAndSpite
Summary: Otabek touches his bare shoulder and Yuri arches like a cat, shaking him off. He’s hypersensitive, he’s a brushfire. He absolutely cannot look at Otabek right now, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do.(after the exhibition skate Yurio still isn't satisfied)





	Tear Up My Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> Showing up to this party two weeks late with starbucks.

When the exhibition skate is over, Yuri doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to be interviewed, he doesn’t want to the check the thousands of notifications blowing up his twitter feed. He doesn’t even want to rub it in Viktor’s and Pork Cutlet Bowl’s faces. Not because it wasn’t fucking rad. It was. It’s the best he’s ever skated. If he’d done this program at the Final, no way would Katsuki have beaten him in the free skate.

But there’s a pressure inside him, a shimmering mania that’s been building for days. He thought the performance would loosen it, but it’s just winched him tighter than ever. 

The program...he’d fucking _asked_ Otabek to do it. But the way Otabek had looked at him, like he wanted to put him between his teeth and take a bite. Yuri isn’t a kid when Otabek looks at him, not some chaste angel in sequins and white feathers. Otabek’s gaze lets him be what he really is--a hunter, a soldier. Something to desire and fear. 

“Hey.” Otabek finds Yuri in the locker room, breathing hard like _he_ had been the one skating. “That was--.” He stalls. He can’t choose an adjective. Yuri wishes he would, please, anything--categorize the pounding chaos inside him so he can figure out what to do with it. 

Instead, Otabek touches his bare shoulder and Yuri arches like a cat, shaking him off. He’s hypersensitive, he’s a brushfire. He absolutely cannot look at Otabek right now, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

He runs all the way back to the hotel--a tiny blond maniac in a ripped tank top and leather pants at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, eyeliner smeared down his cheeks. His phone is playing Lilia’s ringtone over and over; she’s gonna climb up his ass for changing the program without consulting her. Fuck it. Let her yell. He’s still a champion and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Back in his room he turns on the shower as hot as he can stand, looking in the mirror as the bathroom fills up with steam. He looks like a crazy person. Welcome to the madness. He’s tempted to instagram this--pictures or it didn’t happen--but his phone is out on the bed. He gets into the shower and tries not to think about anyone. 

As soon as he shuts off the water he hears, “Yuri? Are you in here?” 

Fuck. “No!” he shouts back nonsensically. The eyeliner is only half gone; he’ll need to use makeup remover to get rid of the rest. He looks like a dead raccoon. 

“Yuri? Can I come in?” 

Yuri grabs for a towel and wraps it around his waist. He shoves the bathroom door open. “How did you get in here?”

Otabek holds up a plain white keycard. “Housekeeping.” 

“Wait--did you _steal_ it?” 

“I was worried about you. You weren’t answering calls and haven’t been online.” 

It occurs to Yuri that he’s been in the shower for a long time. Long enough for the light to go the blurry gold of late afternoon. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. 

Otabek’s hair is in his eyes and sweat gleams at his temples. He hasn’t changed out of the clothes he wore for the exhibition. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

He takes a step toward Yuri, who wishes he was dressed. He is totally vulnerable like this, and he can’t run away. “I never said I was alright.” 

“That’s true. Did something happen?” 

Yuri laughs. “No shit. You were there.” 

Otabek’s face clouds. “I thought it went great.” 

“Of course it did.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” 

Yuri doesn’t say anything. 

Otabek appears to be weighing odds. “What’s going on?” When that gets no response, he takes a step closer and tries. “What do you want?” 

Yuri closes his eyes. In the past few days, Otabek has asked this so many times. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Is the music how you want it? Do I grab your hand like _this?_ Bite the glove like this? And Yuri has asked for literally everything except for what he really, truly wants. 

He wants Otabek to take all the hints he’s chucked his way. He doesn’t want to be the sideline to Yuuri and Viktor as they play out their bullshit fairytale romance. He wants to burn off this unbearable tension that’s built up between them and kept him up at night. He doesn’t want to wait, he doesn’t want to be responsible. 

But he doesn’t say any of this. He can’t. Yuri is too chickenshit to tell him what’s happening. To even _understand_ what’s happening. Otabek is going to leave. 

But he doesn’t. He shrugs off his coat and drops it on the bed, coming close enough that Yuri will either have to drop the towel to fend him off or let him run his hands up his arms and grip his shoulders. His nails are blunt but they dig in anyway. He leans in until they are breathing the same air. 

“Please,” Yuri hisses. 

Otabek wraps one hand loosely around his throat and kisses him, messy and hard. Saliva runs down Yuri’s chin. He drops his towel to grab handfuls of Otabek’s damp t-shirt. He doesn’t smell like anyone else--he’s from a different place, a different diet, a different configuration of biology. 

“Is this why you asked me to be in your program?” Otabek asks, and Yuri doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Otabek slides to his knees. 

Yuri blinks. “Oh my god.” 

Otabek kisses his stomach, his hips, sucks a stinging bite into the inside of one thigh, where the skin starts to get tender. He puts his hands on Yuri’s hips and presses him solidly to the wall. Yuri gasps and struggles. He’s not really sure why; he doesn’t actually want to get away. Otabek doesn’t let go, though, which is good, because if he does Yuri will certainly fall over. 

Otabek’s eyes are dark, full of something wild and impossibly tempting. He hovers with his mouth an inch from Yuri’s dick, then less than an inch. “Yeah?” he breathes. A question. 

“Oh my god,” Yuri says again. “Fuck.” 

Yuri’s skin is still raw and tingling from the shower. He’s so focused on the feel of Otabek’s hands against his thighs that it’s a driving shock when he plants an openmouthed kiss on the head of his dick. Yuri gasps, hips bucking, and Otabek exerts pressure to keep him pinned. There’s a warning in his eyes, and it fills Yuri with shivering heat. 

Otabek takes him in a wet, sloppy slide, mouth open and loose. Yuri’s fingers twist in his hair and Otabek makes a sharp sound in his throat, but he doesn’t stop. Yuri thinks about his fingers in Otabek’s mouth, the fleeting flash of warmth in the middle of the program, everyone watching as Otabek stripped his glove off. 

It’s too much, too hot, too fast; he’s dissolving under Otabek’s fingers, coming with a little shout that rings pathetically off the walls. 

Otabek takes his weight when he sags forward, and then Yuri’s flat on his back on the bed, staring up at the dim ceiling. It looks a thousand miles away. He considers being embarrassed that he came so fast, but he just doesn’t have the energy. And it doesn’t look like Otabek cares about that. He hears him moving around the room, the shift of pipes in the wall as he goes to the sink to rinse his mouth out. Those pipes go all the way through the hotel, where there are other people, supposedly. Right now it’s silent, and it doesn’t seem possible that there’s anyone anywhere else in the world. It’s just him and Otabek. Even though he just performed in front of a crowd. That was years ago. Decades. 

A soft weight bounces on the mattress beside his head. “You should call your coach back and tell him where you are,” Otabek says.

Yuri doesn’t want to, but it would be more trouble to argue than it would be to just do it, so he pushes himself up on one arm and sends Yakov a text, quickly and one handed. Then he flops back down. 

Yakov immediately tries to call him, and Yuri wonders if Otabek will insist that he answer, but he doesn’t. The phone vibrates a few more times and then goes quiet. Yuri is left with nothing but his pounding heart and this trembling, adrenaline-soaked lethargy. 

He’s naked, the towel lost somewhere on the floor. Yuri’s never been self conscious about nudity--not much opportunity for that as an athlete and a dancer. But now, with Otabek’s eyes on him, he wonders what he looks like. A damp, floppy mess, probably. 

Otabek sits down on the bed. “That was amazing.” 

Yuri’s laugh is mostly breath. “I know.” He’s not sure if Otabek means the program or the blowjob, but for Yuri it’s both. Definitely both. 

You’re amazing, Yuri wants to say. _You make me feel more like myself than anyone ever has. Even me._ But saying that out loud would be lame and also impossible. But Otabek is taking off his boots and his jacket, he’s climbing onto the bed next to him, and Yuri thinks he doesn’t actually have to say anything.


End file.
